


Fourth Rule, Sixth Rule

by laEsmeralda



Series: Viggo's Fight Club [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-17 22:53:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2326028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laEsmeralda/pseuds/laEsmeralda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>1st Rule: You do not talk about Viggo's Fight Club.</p><p>2nd Rule: You DO NOT talk about Viggo's Fight Club.</p><p>3rd Rule: If someone says "stop" or goes limp, taps out, the fight is over.</p><p>4th Rule: Only two guys to a fight.</p><p>5th Rule: One fight at a time.</p><p>6th Rule: No shirts, no shoes.</p><p>7th Rule: Fights will go on as long as they have to.</p><p>8th Rule: If this is your first night at Viggo's Fight Club, you HAVE to fight.</p><p>9th Rule: Fucking is better than fighting and may be substituted into any and all of the other rules.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Fourth Rule, Sixth Rule

**Author's Note:**

> 1st Rule: You do not talk about Viggo's Fight Club.
> 
> 2nd Rule: You DO NOT talk about Viggo's Fight Club.
> 
> 3rd Rule: If someone says "stop" or goes limp, taps out, the fight is over.
> 
> 4th Rule: Only two guys to a fight.
> 
> 5th Rule: One fight at a time.
> 
> 6th Rule: No shirts, no shoes.
> 
> 7th Rule: Fights will go on as long as they have to.
> 
> 8th Rule: If this is your first night at Viggo's Fight Club, you HAVE to fight.
> 
> 9th Rule: Fucking is better than fighting and may be substituted into any and all of the other rules.

Elijah arrived at Viggo's door with his arms full of takeout. He smiled to see Orlando already waiting there armed with a brown paper liquor store bag. Orlando grinned back. 

The parked car in the driveway had given Elijah a few moments to slow his suddenly thumping heart and get himself organized. For the first time, Elijah appreciated that Viggo liked having a house where the front door couldn't be seen from the driveway. 

It had been two weeks since the first night of Viggo's Fight Club. There had been no discussion of repeating it. Of course. First Rule. Second Rule.

Today, when Orlando's face had gone and stayed white with fury at Craig's complaint about the number of takes "certain elves" needed to get a simple job done, Elijah's eyes had slid to Viggo's without conscious thought. He had received an Aragorn-like tilting of the head in response, one eyebrow raised.

Elijah had felt surprised at himself that the thought had so immediately occurred to him. Not that he hadn't thought about that evening, more often than he would like to admit, as it was one of the hotter things he'd ever done. His palm still retained the strange sensitivity it had discovered when he touched Orlando's hard-on through damp cloth. And then _bare_ , slipping under the waistband almost by accident while Orlando was far gone.

Oddly, he didn't feel all that strange about what he had done, mostly because Orlando would never let that happen. Orlando was often the first to jump and, in his enthusiasm, naturally acted as the prod and the net for everyone else. 

So everything was cool. Except that Elijah had tried to extinguish that new sensitivity of his palm on his own dick. Repeatedly. Unsuccessfully.

Elijah gathered the paper bags to him, kicking the car door shut. It wasn't that he _wanted_ Orlando. Nearly all the time, the physicality between them didn't seem sexual at all. Nearly. 

It would be impossible to say there was no attraction, but then, there was attraction among everyone in the core cast. They liked one another. They wanted to be together most of the time. They relied on each other. Elijah had thought about this a great deal. He had experienced the fleeting connections among cast members before. 

Elijah crunched over the stones of the path that curved to the front door. The only problem with feeling so clear about things in the car was that clarity faded with each step on the way to Viggo's door. Clear and normal were going away, being replaced by anticipation of that different space that now existed in Viggo's house when his Rules were invoked. 

That anticipation, not knowing what would happen but thinking that it might possibly involve touching Orlando again, had him hard already. He had to face Orlando at the door, not as the comfortable friend with whom he had sprawled on Dom's couch yesterday, while they all yammered, but as the guy whose dick now made his palm itch. 

But then, Orlando grinned at him and Elijah felt fine again. Just fine. 

All hands were full, so they bumped shoulders roughly.

"Viggo, open the fucking door. We sodding know you're in there." Orlando's voice sounded mock-angry, not truly angry, but Elijah could still see the tension in Orlando's body. Not that he was paying that much attention to Orlando's body. Elijah took a step back, realizing how close he was standing.

Viggo pulled the door open roughly. His hair was still shower-wet. He wore a slightly dazed expression explained by the book he had clutched in one hand, fingers between the pages. "Sorry, lost track of the time."

"Since when do you lock us out?" Elijah chided, shouldering his way in. 

"I didn't. I came in the back door and forgot to unlock the front."

"Well," Orlando said, "that'll save you some time now. You'd better lock behind us."

The dazed look vanished, replaced by an evil-looking grin. He backed away and Orlando stepped over the threshold.

Orlando didn't smile back though it taxed him not to. He didn't want Viggo to jump to conclusions. "This _is_ a secret society, right?"

"Right."

Elijah dumped the bags on the counter and went straight to the bathroom. "Sorry, too much coffee," he called over his shoulder. 

Viggo and Orlando unpacked everything. They didn't speak right away.

Orlando tried to calm himself. It had been a shit day for him up until Viggo had flashed him the fist, Elijah seconded it, and he could look forward nervously to whatever might happen. Here. In this house. 

Standing out front when he heard Elijah's car, he had briefly worried about how they would react to each other, trapped together outside Viggo's locked door and knowing at least vaguely what they meant to go in there and do. But just seeing Elijah's face had eased the fear and reminded him that they were who they were.

He had been so surprised when in the middle of the first fight, Elijah had purposefully _touched_ him, going beyond the accidental, well past the can't-stop-it-feels-too-good of their movements up to that point. It could have changed everything. Somehow, it didn't. He had tried to reassure Elijah that all was well and apparently it worked. They were still cool. 

That touch did change one thing though. A thought that would never have crossed Orlando's mind before had become a point of near-obsession over the past two weeks: Elijah's hand was damn good at getting him off. 

"I'm not trying to have sex with either of you." Viggo's quiet voice sounded horribly loud to Orlando against the preceding silence and his own fairly explicit thoughts. "Just in case you've been worried about that."

Orlando had a sudden flash of Viggo coming at him, hot and bothered and knowing exactly what to do, and although fear was his first reaction, it wasn't the only one. "Um. Well, that's blunt of you." Orlando fiddled with the cap on a bottle of beer. "What's in it for you then?" 

Viggo went to the drawer for silverware to prevent himself from saying the first thing that came to mind. With his back turned, he smiled wryly. He had nearly injured himself, in fact, with the recall of the two young men together. And he had processed his motives over and over again, trying to understand himself. He still didn't.

Seeing Elijah being touched was wildly arousing. Viggo loved watching his eyes clouding over, his passive nature gaining assertiveness, his body releasing its otherwise constant self-conscious tension. Viggo wasn't sure yet if he wanted to do the touching.

Orlando was a slightly different matter. Made of different stuff. Viggo definitely did want to touch him, but it would be difficult to describe in words the feeling behind that urge. He didn't think of Orlando as a sexual partner. He was like a curve of beach that Viggo could walk over and over again and always experience something new and intriguing. Then again, walking on the beach often made him horny.

He didn't say any of those things. He said something much more removed. "Would it sound horribly pretentious to you if I said that so far this fight club thing is the most fabulous performance art in which I've ever had the pleasure of participating?" 

Orlando looked at him, astonished, and snorted. "Performance art? That sounds phony as hell." 

"Hey, you don't understand. For me, performance art is something that happens on stage that describes other things, metaphorically, but it only happens in those moments of the performance. Sure, some of it's contrived but most of it is improvised, organic. You might have a plan going in, but the plan changes. When it works, and it often doesn't work at all, it's a total rush."

"What's a total rush?" Elijah appeared in the doorway. 

"Viggo is trying to educate me about performance art. I don't think I'm entirely getting it."

"Never mind." Viggo sighed. "I'm full of shit anyway. Let's eat."

Eat they did, like starving beasts, sprawled this time around the coffee table instead of sitting in the dining room. Martha Stuart was nowhere to be found.

After inhaling his food and two beers, Elijah spotted a long white paper bag on the end table. "What's this?" Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed it and several large paintbrushes slid out into his lap.

Viggo smiled crookedly. "Nosy, nosy. I just couldn't resist them. I won't have time for weeks to do any painting, but hell, they're great."

Elijah picked up a fan brush and examined it. He pushed his finger through the bristles finding them unbelievably soft. "Wow, this is... hey, I suspect animal death was involved in this," he said disapprovingly.

"No animal death. Or cruelty. I paid extra for that fact. Besides, you just consumed a significant amount of animal death."

"Fur is different." 

"I would tend to agree with you, except that it isn't vanity here. No synthetic deals with oils quite like golden sable." He reached for one of the flat brushes and dusted it across Elijah's nose, eliciting a coo of appreciation. "The hair -- not fur -- was taken by clipping. The warm, furry creatures are still cavorting happily in their free-range environment. Satisfied?"

Elijah grinned. "Yup. Why is this one shaped like this?"

"It's for softening and blending."

"They're big brushes," remarked Orlando, finishing off his last bite of chow with gusto. 

"I like using a lot of paint," Viggo replied mildly. 

Elijah dove back into the bag and pulled out a round brush. "What's this one for?"

"It's great for ink or precise work." 

Elijah ran it up his forearm and then wrote across his palm with invisible paint. "Geez, these are.... " He stopped abruptly and put the brush down.

Viggo didn't have to ask "what." As the soft bristles slid down over Elijah's wrist, parting along the white skin, the same thought occurred to him.

"What the fuck are you two on about?" asked Orlando, wiping his mouth and taking a long drink of water.

"Are we finished eating?" asked Viggo, an oddly flat tone to his voice.

"Yeah. I'm done." Elijah scrabbled their containers together and headed to the kitchen.

Orlando looked from one to the other, bewildered by the sudden change. Viggo didn't look at him until Elijah came back in the room. When Viggo's eyes did connect with his, he felt incredibly slow for not getting it earlier. "Ah, Viggo's Fight Club is now called to order."

"Sixth Rule. Not enforced last time, in effect starting now," Viggo said.

Orlando's eyes flicked up as he accessed that part of his brain. "Oh. But, um, who's fighting?" He swallowed hard.

Viggo leaned back on his arms and held Orlando's gaze. "You are for one."

Orlando shrugged, wiggled his bare toes, and reached to strip off his t-shirt. Action forestalled panic. "And? Who's for taking me on? I warn you both, I'm still in quite a foul mood." 

"Lij'll fix that, won't you?" Viggo said. 

"Perhaps we both should. He won't go down easy." Elijah said, and then flinched.

Orlando didn't laugh at the unintended pun. Elijah's platonic body language was shifting to something shy, signaling that he was already aroused. Orlando felt himself responding and kept his mouth shut.

"Fourth Rule," invoked Viggo, shaking his head. "But you can take him. He's a pussycat. I'll help you from over here. If you need help." He arranged himself more comfortably, leaning back against the couch and making a bit more floor space available. 

Orlando waited, his legs tucked under him, the faintest pink coming up under his skin. He thought how nuts and how great this was all at the same time, glad that he'd worn jeans and not track pants this time. A little more protection.

"I've observed something useful about our friend here," Viggo said conversationally to Elijah. "All that fidgeting comes from oversensitivity. Perhaps hypersensitivity, I'm not sure. In short, Orlando is very responsive." 

He certainly was at that moment. He suppressed a shudder. He worried about being given away. His secrets. When did Viggo figure them out? He tried to hide the fear.

"He's been practicing being our elf to the point that his senses are heightened." Viggo turned his attention back to Orlando. "So, here we have a naturally hypersensitive guy whose senses have been further sharpened by temporary circumstance. Then, we put him in this pressured environment where irritating people say thoughtless things, speak too loudly for his ears, show him ugly things when he craves the beautiful." He tilted his head back toward Elijah. "You're the perfect antidote." The look on Elijah's face was breathtaking in its lack of guile and Viggo took a moment to soak it in. 

"So you're saying that I'm... medicine?" Elijah looked at Orlando's half-clad form, trying to habituate to it while avoiding the dark eyes. 

"Big medicine," replied Viggo.

"Thought I was supposed to fight him."

"In a manner of speaking, you are."

Orlando didn't say anything. He couldn't seem to. His skin was practically crawling with discomfort. 

Elijah decided that "big medicine" meant he should approach the situation with reverence. No rude joking, no loudness, and no fumbling like last time. The thought of a "last time" was a strange idea all by itself. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt, thinking through what to do next. This was difficult. He would have to go over there. This wasn't waking up on top of Orlando, _whoops_ and all. This was deliberate. But then, his hand wrapping around Orlando's dick, that had been deliberate, hadn't it? 

Orlando's eyes rose just enough to follow the movement of Elijah's hands. The shirt peeled away and he felt a shiver coming on. It wasn't as though they hadn't seen far more of one another than this. Orlando began to understand what women said about context, something Fran and Philippa were often on about as they debated character actions. Elijah peeling off all his clothes on the beach or in wardrobe was completely different than Elijah unbuttoning his shirt in order to.... Orlando stopped himself there. 

Elijah crawled over and sat in front of Orlando. He took a deep breath and put a hand on each side of Orlando's face, forcing him to look at him. "We're fine. Everything's fine. And we're gonna have a good jump today, right, mate?"

A relieved grin spread over Orlando's face. "Right." 

"Okay then." Elijah slipped behind Orlando and squeezed his shoulders reassuringly. 

Orlando watched as Elijah reached past him and grabbed one of the brushes. Orlando raised an incredulous eyebrow to Viggo. 

Viggo chuckled. "Improvisation."

Elijah's hand felt cold on the back of his skull as it tipped his head forward. Elijah was a cold-hands-warm-heart kind of guy anyway, especially when nervous. Then, Orlando felt a pleasant tickle at the top of his spine, just where his hair ended. 

Applying enough pressure not to irritate, and keeping a firm hand counterpoint on Orlando's shoulder, Elijah traced the brush tip over the contours of Orlando's bones, working his way across and down with exquisite patience.

Orlando closed his eyes, smiling. It was a blissful kind of touch, soothing. It made him happy all at once, all over.

Viggo could see Elijah's intense look of concentration as he dry-painted Orlando, and he noted that Orlando was reacting to the touch as affection and just that. The plan changes. That's okay.

But then, a little look of consternation passed over Orlando's features. Viggo couldn't see exactly what Elijah was doing, but it was upsetting Orlando, his body was tensing.

"It's okay," Elijah soothed, squeezing the shoulder harder, "they're beautiful." He leaned closer to Orlando's ear. "They mean that you lived to be my friend."

Viggo realized then that Elijah was tracing Orlando's scars with the brush. The sweet face partially visible past Orlando's shoulder showed both unguarded love and a stark recognition of death.

"They mean that sometimes I'm a stupid fucker," Orlando's voice shook, "but I forget that they're there."

"Are they less sensitive? Than the other skin?"

"A little, sometimes numb, normal mostly, but sometimes itchy."

"You can always ask me to scratch your back," said Elijah cheerfully.

Orlando half-smiled. "You've no fingernails, silly."

"Mmm," Elijah agreed. He continued his ministrations until Orlando relaxed again. 

"That's... nice, Lij," Orlando said, his head falling back a little. "Thank you."

Elijah had reached the base of Orlando's spine. He reached for the fan brush and laid the round brush down. He traced each rib across Orlando's back, feathering the brush from side to spine, sweeping back and forth. Viggo could see what Elijah could not, that Orlando's nostrils flared and his nipples went to fine points before Elijah was finished with the left side. Orlando's fingers dug into his own thighs.

Elijah brushed up behind Orlando's ear on one side. Orlando gasped and flinched into the touch before he could catch himself, his eyes going all black. As he began to straighten again, the brush tickled around behind the other ear and down his neck. His eyes closed and remained closed. "Jesus, Elijah," he said, then, "I think you'd better stop." 

Viggo's detachment evaporated. "No."

"No," echoed Elijah, "unless that's a definitive 'stop.' Come on, man, don't tap out on me yet. Big medicine, remember?" The brush flickered along Orlando's skin as did Elijah's breath. 

Viggo could almost see the electricity jumping off Orlando. And Orlando was shaking. Normally, he vibrated, now, he shimmered. 

Elijah leaned closer to Orlando's back, reaching his arm around so that he could stroke along a collarbone toward his throat. And Orlando more or less collapsed back against Elijah, his head hitting a shoulder too hard. Elijah tried to take the weight without stopping the brush. 

Viggo slowly moved forward and dragged the heavy wooden coffee table behind Elijah to brace him. Elijah worked his legs underneath Orlando's arms, close against his quivering sides, helping to hold Orlando steady. Meanwhile, the brush moved down the centerline of Orlando's body and back up.

Returning to his place on the rug opposite Orlando, Viggo drew up his knees and wrapped his arms around them. Orlando's face had turned toward Elijah's neck, his lips just grazing the skin there. Viggo thought that if he were Elijah, he would dip his head down and take that mouth for all he was worth. Of course, if he were Elijah... it was a pointless exercise to consider that. The kid was intent on exploring this new magical power he had to strip his friend of voluntary movement, and that seemed to be quite enough for him to handle.

For a second, Elijah wavered. Then, the beautiful fanned tip of the brush made its way along the curve of a pectoral muscle and deliberately flashed against a nipple. 

Orlando's hips came up, his back arching. "Fuck! Oh!" He tried to grab for Elijah's hands to still them. 

"No," crooned Elijah, moving his hands out of reach behind his back, "Unless you say 'stop,' I don't think so. We're not done. Rule Seven." 

Orlando didn't say, "stop."

When Elijah's hands came back in view, the paintbrush was missing. 

Viggo didn't catch up right away. It wasn't until a shaking hand cupped Orlando's chest and fingers teased that same nipple that he realized Elijah was going for direct and bare. 

Orlando panted and tried not to arch up again. His hands clutched at Elijah's shoulders. 

Apparently, that level of control did not sit well with Elijah. With nothing short of shock, Viggo watched the free hand slide down Orlando's stomach and right under the loose waistband of his jeans.

"Agh!" Orlando cried roughly. He writhed back against Elijah, his toes digging into the rug.

Shaking or not, Elijah's touch was sure. He was going to get rid of the tingle in his palm so help him. He stopped just long enough to deftly wrestle a couple of buttons loose to give himself more room to move. Orlando's back slid against Elijah's chest in the process, both were damp with perspiration. Elijah got a stronger grip across Orlando's chest and clamped his legs tighter.

So much for thinking Elijah couldn't handle more. Viggo absorbed the change in his assumptions about the kid. He snuck a hand around and eased his own zipper down. Two guys to a fight was a fine rule, but total nonparticipation had just gone out the window. He got down to bare skin and gritted his teeth.

Elijah was whispering against Orlando's ear and Orlando was answering him in the rhythm of conversation but without words. Viggo could catch a few Elijah sentences here and there and learned that Elijah didn't mind saying what was on his mind. "Jesus, you're wet as any girl I've ever been with..." As his fingers moved faster, so did Viggo's. "...feels great in my hand..." His teeth tugged on an earlobe. "... pure fucking sex on legs." Sweat rolled down the side of Elijah's face.

Orlando wasn't resisting any longer. His hips followed Elijah's hand and otherwise he just hung on, eyes closed.

"I want to see it," Elijah said, "now," and Orlando's hands suddenly regained their connection to his brain, scrabbled over his hips and pulled jeans and boxers down several inches. Orlando's cock thrust into view surrounded by Elijah's fingers. Elijah moaned low and quiet.

"Whoa, that's gorgeous," Viggo whispered at the whole scene, the abandon. 

"Orlando, buddy, can you open your eyes?" Elijah's voice came out trashed, but he was still talking. "Don't be afraid," he added.

Lashes flickered, and though it took a monumental effort, Orlando opened his eyes. The brightness of Elijah's blue surprised him deep in his spine. He couldn't speak to ask what the hell it was Elijah wanted him to open his eyes for when he was feeling just fine with them shut.

"Before I push you out of the plane, I want to do this and I want you to see it coming." Elijah's mouth touched Orlando's, open and soft. It wasn't a long, or deep, or passionate kiss. It was tender and full of affection. Bright sparks met white clouds. And it made Viggo come. Wicked hard and silent, chin on knees. He would have sooner suffocated than interrupt them. 

Elijah pulled back from Orlando's mouth as the pulses were still nuking Viggo's brain cells. 

"Lij, I'm...." Orlando located a fragment of his voice. He wasn't moving any longer but it didn't matter. Elijah was moving for him.

"Yeah. Now jump." His fingers stroked harder. On purpose, he shifted his hand so that it didn't cover the tip of Orlando's dick. His palm was blissfully happy.

What surprised Viggo the most was that Elijah clearly wasn't going to come. Yet. He was flushed and hot but totally focused and in control. At eighteen. An interesting and unexpected development.

Orlando slipped a hand from Elijah's shoulder and wrapped it behind Elijah's neck. He didn't shut his eyes for another moment, and Elijah smiled into them. Then, Orlando was gone with a strangled groan, right out the airplane door and into the wind.

At first afterward there was only labored breathing. Then, still trying for reverence, without joking, Elijah's voice ventured, "Goddamn." 

Orlando laughed nervously. He was still leaning back against Elijah and began to think about the fact that he would have to disengage from the warmth and relaxation and actually face Elijah.

Elijah surveyed the scene and pondered what was to be done. Not much from his present position. "No shirts -- that was a really good idea," he said, not quipping. He realized he still had a grip on Orlando's dick and ever so gently released the softening flesh. He kept it covered for the moment because it seemed rude to just leave him there mostly naked. 

He wondered what it meant that he actually liked the smell of Orlando's come. It was probably enough like his own to trigger a conditioned response. That seemed like a good explanation, a preferable explanation to some that surfaced.

Viggo used their conversation to furtively manage his own mess and at least zip. He got up then and went to the laundry room, switched jeans and shirts and came back with a towel. Orlando reached for it eagerly without meeting his eyes. As Orlando dried off, Viggo leaned down and wiped a splatter off Orlando's cheek with his thumb. Elijah laughed.

"Jesus, you guys, quit it." Orlando struggled with his underwear and jeans, his face burning. He reached for Elijah's hand and wiped it clean.

"Sorry. Just enjoying ourselves at your expense." Viggo backed off and flopped on the couch. He felt miraculously good. And no one was noticing the wardrobe change. 

Orlando actually folded the towel. That was so out of character that Viggo paid better attention and caught the confusion flashing across his features. Orlando's hand fell to the outside of Elijah's thigh. "Look, I'm not such a selfish guy not to notice that... that you...." He wasn't going to be able to finish.

Elijah's arms wrapped tightly around Orlando. "Hey, man, only because I didn't want to miss _that_. That was spectacular. It was like, athletic."

Orlando cringed, his eyes squeezed shut for a moment. "So. You want to though, right?" He toyed nervously with the frayed seam beneath his fingers, his eyes on the rug. 

Elijah's mouth went dry. Swallowed. "Always. Sure. Um, what've you got in mind?" 

"Don't exactly know yet, but I wanna return the favor." Orlando took a deep, deep breath. "I can't get my mind around how a timid hobbit can be so much braver about this than me." 

Elijah grinned behind Orlando's back. "We are so _not_ in character. I'm not timid, I'm a terrible flirt, remember. A natural comedian. A guy's got to risk some serious rejection to do that. This isn't any different."

Right. No different. That kiss resonated in Orlando's chest. It had been just right. Nothing weird. Not a lover's kiss. And he felt still. Clarified. He put a hand over his own breastbone and felt how everything was steady. "I think you cured me."

"Believe me," Elijah laughed, "it's only temporary. You'll be freaking out again tomorrow."

Orlando laughed. He knew that Elijah wanted to be grown up, tough, edgy. He kept rejecting his real center which was soft, hungry with love and need to be loved. Something resolved itself in Orlando then. He grasped Elijah's wrists and held his arms away so that he could turn in the not-embrace, getting up on his knees. Elijah's grin faded a little. 

"Viggo, I need the couch." Orlando wrapped his arms around his friend and stood, pulling Elijah with him. 

Viggo removed himself to the chair.

"Why don't we care whether Viggo needs to fight?" Orlando backed Elijah toward the couch. 

Elijah let his arms slide around Orlando's waist. "Because, he already... feels better. Nice shirt, Viggo," Elijah said past Orlando's bicep.

"You little shits." Viggo grinned. 

With Elijah's legs trapped against the couch, Orlando let him hang against his own body and reached to undo his jeans. The zipper growled roughly. "You were so gentle and patient with me," he whispered, "but I think you need something different. Stop me if I'm wrong." One hand went hard to the small of Elijah's back, the other went down the front of the jeans. He thought to himself that having gangly hands might, after all, be a good thing as he managed to touch a whole lot of Elijah all at once. And there was a lot to touch. The ends of his fingers scooped under balls that had snugged up to Elijah's body, while his wrist trapped the length of Elijah's cock against his belly. 

Elijah's arms tightened. "Oh."

Having crossed a line he had so feared, Orlando found himself in territory that felt just fine. Oddly familiar. The soft skin under his hand was warm and dry stretched over Elijah's racing pulse. He rubbed down hard, ungently, and back. Elijah bit him on the chest just hard enough to say that he was pleased. Orlando continued for a few strokes, then while Elijah was concentrating, distracted, he pushed jeans and underwear down far enough over the curve of Elijah's ass that they fell the rest of the way off. 

Naked. Rendering a guy totally naked was almost an unfair move in a fight. He expected a protest and it started to emerge from Elijah's throat, an indignant little noise. So he flipped Elijah to the couch, managing to stand on the pants and disengage Elijah's feet from them. Before Elijah could sit up or fight back, Orlando's hand was back on his cock. 

"I bet you always take your time, don't you? Go ahead, try to make it last. I give it two minutes." Orlando threw down the challenge with a firm squeeze and a twist of his wrist. 

"Hah! You think you're that good, do you?" Elijah retorted, trying to ignore the quaver in his own voice.

Orlando grabbed an ankle and wrapped Elijah's leg over his shoulder so he could sit closer against him. For the briefest flash, the action of lifting that leg took Orlando back to his last encounter with a woman and he decided it was best not to think of that just now. "Nah. I think you're that ready. Go on, resist it."

He braced his shoulder hard against Elijah's leg. Orlando's second hand was free again, and he reached to rub the silky spot behind Elijah's balls. That definitively ended the conversation and Elijah's remaining inhibitions. 

"Fuck _me_ ," Elijah hissed in astonishment. 

It was a pronouncement, not a request. Still, Orlando grinned and nuzzled the inside of Elijah's calf. "Um, don't think so, not today anyway." It was both bizarre and good to know that solitary skills could be transferred to the mutual.

By now, Orlando had discerned that Viggo liked seeing Elijah get it. Orlando liked the idea of messing with Viggo's head. From a safe distance. He thought he'd arranged the couch rather nicely and congratulated himself on getting Elijah's clothes off with a minimum of fanfare. 

This detached consideration helped him deal with certain facts: that he was hard again pressed up against half of Elijah's ass, that the supernaturally white body writhing on the dark couch was beautiful in a very personal way, and that he was handling a friend's cock. And that friend had just said his name.

"Orlando," Elijah gasped.

"Yeah?" The handful of flesh was so hard now that even the thinnest skin on the outside had no give to it. It almost looked... edible. 

" _Harder_."

Instinctively, he knew Elijah meant one hand in particular, and he dug his fingers in deeper against the silky spot. He also took a moment to feel the sweet pressure of Elijah's naked ass against him. Elijah's arms went up over his head, exposing the dark hair of his underarms and a sharper smell of him, not his nervous smell, not overexertion, something else.

Elijah's eyes didn't close. They were locked on Orlando's hands and his own dick. He noted the odd and lovely feeling of Orlando's hard-on trapped against his ass cheek. He could feel Viggo's eyes on him too and although that made his face hot, it also gave him a strong push toward coming. The pleasure moving down through him was the screaming kind that he on occasion had to stifle in his own room, and he would swear it had only been a minute since Orlando dared him to resist. He stopped trying. Funny, he couldn't hear his own yell though he could feel it tear out of him.

Watching Elijah buck up into Orlando's hands with eyes wide open assured Viggo that any higher natural power there might be was ultimately benevolent and forgiving and deeply interested in pleasure. Viggo let himself relax as Elijah moved more slowly and then stilled.

Orlando couldn't say why he got tears in his eyes. Perhaps it was the physical strain of balancing and holding on to Elijah properly through such a long orgasm. It could be the sharpness of renewed pleasure held back just so he could keep feeling it. Maybe it was the conflict between his desire to immediately bolt from the room for an extended run down the beach and his understanding that Elijah needed help now to calm down and get himself together. 

In the end, he had to admit it was the moment when Elijah's nearly blind eyes moved from watching his own spurting cock to silently asking Orlando if everything was okay. Orlando made damn sure his eyes answered that everything was just excellent, and Elijah closed his in relief before he could see Orlando's tears. 

Orlando eased the stretched leg back down to the couch and reached for the towel. Only Viggo saw him swipe his eyes before moving to dry his hands and gently cover Elijah. 

Elijah sighed, deeply contented. "Fuck." He smiled big. "Where did you learn that?"

"Don't remember. _Esquire_ or _Men's Health_ or something." Orlando leaned sideways into the back of the couch.

"Gay mags," quipped Elijah.

"Shut the fuck up." Orlando managed to sound playful. "You have to know these things for solo purposes." Then, he looked instantly rueful.

"I don't care who came up with it or why." The bright eyes flashed open again. "What I don't understand is how come you aren't constantly wanking with technique like that. Hell, at two minutes apiece you could manage two, three in the trailer just on breaks every day." 

Viggo laughed. "One and a half minutes apiece, actually."

Orlando raised an eyebrow. "Bit noisy, don't you think? And it's a bad habit to start going fast." 

"But you thought it was the right thing just now." 

"Occasional speeding is good for the soul." Besides, Orlando wasn't sure he could handle an extended session with Elijah's body without questioning certain fundamentals.

Elijah blinked at him for a moment, then sat up and wrapped the towel around himself. "Viggo, mind if I take a shower? And, ah, maybe I should do some of your laundry."

"Shower away. Don't worry about the towel for Chrissakes. I'll take care of it later."

There was something in Viggo's voice that made Orlando see a flash of him burying his face in that towel. He squeezed his eyes shut to banish the thought.

Elijah got up and scooped his clothes off various bits of floor. Before he left the room, he walked over to where Orlando still sat, forearms on knees. Orlando looked up. He was a tad pale. Elijah nudged their bare feet together. "Good fight. I think you won this one." He winked and padded away.

Orlando finally stood and went to the patio door, looking out at a gray afternoon sea. Viggo came over and stood behind him, not too close.

"You aren't okay."

"Mm. Feeling odd."

"Why?" he asked in a tone of wanting to understand, not a tone of dismissal. He couldn't see Orlando's face. He waited for what seemed like a long time for an answer. But Viggo could be patient. 

"That was emotional." 

"Of course." Viggo scratched his beard. "You love each other." Orlando stiffened and Viggo pushed on. "Wait, I don't mean that like you think I mean it. It's just, unless you entirely don't give a shit it can't be unemotional. Last time was emotional in a different way, right?" He paused. "Who are you worried about?"

"It was really, really good," Orlando said a little breathlessly. "Both ways. I'm worried that I don't know what to think."

"Then, don't think yet." Viggo made it sound so simple. Orlando turned to meet Viggo's gaze. They were standing closer than he had thought but he managed not to take a step back. Viggo reached over and with his thumb, traced an eyebrow, a cheekbone, the long nose. 

This was somehow an intimidating gesture. It was not made less so by the realization that this was the same thumb that had wiped his own semen off his face a few minutes ago. "It's difficult not to think. About it. All of it."

"You're a couple of horny kids getting off. Boys do it all the time. They do it with close friends because it's safe. You can't feel unemotional about close friends or something's really fucked up." Viggo shrugged and his hand fell away.

"Boys maybe. But _men_ don't. Or else they aren't straight."

Viggo didn't ask if there had been others. He thought not. And for some reason, he would rather think not. "Straight men just don't talk about it." Viggo folded his arms. "And that kiss wasn't anything to worry about." 

Orlando flashed him a grateful look. He thought, 'Here we are talking about Viggo's Fight Club. The rules change.'

"But for me, it was great." Viggo leaned on the window, letting a sly smile show.

Orlando's involuntary smile came out quirky. "Why?" He could still hear the shower.

"Elijah sparked up all this electricity from you then he just swallowed it, took it." The kiss happened again in Viggo's memory. He savored it. "I worry about Elijah sometimes. He thinks he can't be himself. And 'himself' is great."

"He wants to be tough. And he is, just not the way he thinks is cool. Besides, we all think we can't be ourselves in one way or another."

"You don't mind being seen as vulnerable, less on your guard. That's good for him to be around."

"Me? I have other issues. Like if I'm so sure I'm not gay, why was that so fun?" Orlando looked back out to sea.

"I think it's amazing you can talk about it. Most guys wouldn't. Wanna do it again sometime?" 

Orlando squared his shoulders. "Maybe." He took a couple of moments. Thought about the noises Elijah had made. Tried not to think about the shattering feeling Elijah had dragged out of his body earlier. "Probably." 

"Well, then, your concern is a question of categories, labels, not of who you are. Who you are is a guy who deeply enjoys women, or so I gather from watching you. You can also treat a close friend to a much-needed wanking, on occasion, and your head won't explode from any contradictions implied therein."

In spite of himself, Orlando laughed. "Well then. No worries."

"And it is Elijah. Unusual circumstances." 

Orlando swallowed. "And you." He didn't look up.

"Like I said, unusual circumstances." But Viggo felt a thrilling stab at the inclusion. He was careful not to move, afraid to upset Orlando's openness. He lowered his voice more just in case Elijah might come in. "You got him naked just for me, didn't you?"

Color spread into Orlando's cheeks and forehead. His eyelashes flickered. "Yeah. Shit. I did." He had questions. And fear of answers.

"I couldn't touch him. Don't want to." Viggo answered the unspoken. "But he responds to you in a way that just tears open my insides." 

Orlando wondered if Viggo knew what an evil tool that voice of his could be. No doubt. Actor, after all. Read-it-aloud poet. "Maybe that's what worries me."

"He won't fall for you. Any more than he already has over surfing, or music, or clothing. Other stuff he learns from you."

"You sound awfully damn sure. What about me?" It was only lack of deep worry about the possibility that allowed Orlando to even ask the question.

"I don't think so. He's not really your type. And you aren't his. But he loves to look at you." Viggo considered how many more Orlando photos he had in piles in his studio than he did of other frequent subjects. Most beautiful people learned to stay still. To keep their faces composed and, therefore, always near the peak. Camera-ready at all times. Orlando was wildly expressive. He still covered his mouth with his hands for grinning too big or making a face. He mugged. He crossed his eyes, stuck out his tongue. He laughed with his mouth wide open. He kissed and hugged and moved. Viggo had taken a good two-thirds of the candids for exactly that reason and they were unshowable for exactly that reason. There was too much Orlando in them.

"What?" Orlando had become more relaxed again.

Viggo wasn't about to spoil that. "Just wondering if my Fight Club will survive beyond two afternoons."

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written 2004. The few times I have written RPF/RPS, it is with the idea firmly in mind that I am still writing completely _fictional_ characters that derive from celebrity personas. It is the extension of the film work that interests me; how must the act of artistic creation influence the artist?


End file.
